


the truth in masquerade

by thewindraiser



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5688184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewindraiser/pseuds/thewindraiser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?” + “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”</p>
<p>Being 17 is never easy but if you are in love with a guy, a guy who is also your captain, not to mention your best friend, it can get pretty hellish. Or maybe not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the truth in masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabflyingfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabflyingfox/gifts).



> Title is from the Don Juan, poem written by the very handsome gentleman i mention at some point in the fic.

 

Practice had been brutal. Suga tried to get out of his – stinky, sweaty, disgusting – shirt and winced as the movement put stress on a sore spot near his shoulder blade.

The locker room was strangely quiet, even the rowdier members of the team running low on battery. Suga was both glad and frustrated for it. He didn’t have the strength to keep Hinata and Kageyama from fighting, or save Tanaka and Noya from their own stupidity but their chaos and buzzing energy would have helped Suga not to focus on his own problems.

No such luck today.

He half-heartedly bid goodbye to everyone as they left and, once he was sure only Daichi was still there with him, he let himself fall gracelessly on the bench and groaned in pain.

Daichi laughed and the bench squeaked under his weight as he went to sit beside Suga. "Didn’t want the first years to see you like this, uh?"

Suga hummed, "Yeah, i need to hide my aches and pains from the eyes of the youths."

He gave it a playful tone but the truth ran deeper than that. It was a matter of _pride_. He could smile all he liked, but he couldn’t deny that sometimes a part of him felt…inadequate. Inadequate as a player. Inadequate as a senpai. Inadequate for a team that was improving so fast and that, he was sure, would take Nationals by storm. The least he could do was keep working hard and…save face, he supposed.

These thoughts never turned into words but Suga had a feeling Daichi heard them anyway. He and Daichi, they’d always been good at understanding each other’s silence.

Daichi put a hand on his shoulder, quiet support, and Suga cracked a smile when it lingered a tad too long. They said nothing more as they finished getting dressed and walked home together.

Walking with Daichi was comforting. They never left the other behind, never had to catch up or wait. Daichi always looked straight ahead, focused on what was right in front of him, even in the most trivial situations. And that had saved Suga from stepping in puddles more than once. Because Suga, he was the exact opposite in that sense. When he took a walk, even through streets he could walk blindfolded he knew them so well, everything could catch his attention at any moment, making him careless and sometimes clumsy. He so easily lost himself in the shape of a cloud, the adorable toothless smile of a baby, in his thoughts. In Daichi.

Yes, for walking with Daichi was also torture.

They bumped shoulders for the nth (5th to be precise but who was counting) time that afternoon and the backs of their hands touched. It was barely a graze but Suga felt it. He always felt it, and he hated himself for it. It tingled like an asleep limb.

The tingling spread to his fingertips and up his arm, through the vena cava to reach his heart.

Suga clenched his hand - his stupid, tingling hand - in a fist and shoved it in his pocket. He caught Daichi looking at him from the corner of his eye but the shadows of the trees playing on his face made it impossible for Suga to read his expression.

He breathed in the moist October air and just kept walking.

Soon, between a joke and a resigned homework talk, they reached Suga’s house. His lips parted and curled around an invitation his brain had yet to process. "Do you want to come in?"

He saw Daichi’s shoulders sag in what he recognized, but couldn’t explain, as relief. "Yes, please."

"We’re home!"

"Pardon the intrusion."

As they were toeing off their shoes, Daichi touched Suga’s wrist lightly. Their eyes met. "Is your mother-"

"No." A brusque answer Suga hoped to soften with his smile.

Daichi didn’t like Suga’s mom. He’d never admit it, he was too polite for that, but it was still true. Suga was ok with that, sometimes – often, always - he felt the same way. For every time she left, Suga hated her more for always – always? - coming back.

Silence welcomed them in the house. His father must still be at work then. Suga snorted at the ridiculous post-it note on the fridge. ‘There’s udon in here. Don’t just eat chips for dinner. I’ll know if you do.’ And then, scribbled down in the corner: ‘Hello Daichi-kun!’

Daichi chuckled. "How does he always know?"

Suga shrugged and put a finger on his chin in faux contemplation. "Maybe it’s because you spend more time here than at your own house?"

Daichi hip-checked him gently, laughter still in his eyes. "You are the one who keeps inviting me!"

They kept the teasing up all the way to Suga’s room ("Honestly Daichi, i’m pretty sure your mom has forgotten what you look like by now. Lucky her." "Yeah well i’m getting tired of your face and your inexplicable grey hair too." ''It's silver!") then settled in silence to do homework.

Daichi helped Suga in math, Suga helped Daichi with literature and English. The way Daichi was butchering Byron almost distracted Suga from the warmth Daichi’s knee gave off pressed against his. Almost.

Waiting for Daichi to finish his assignment, Suga leaned on the side of the bed with a wince and let his mind wander. As much as he willed himself not to go there, his eyes fell on Daichi again and his thoughts followed suit.

For all that he’d been joking, Daichi really was spending a lot of time at Suga’s house. It was always like this when Suga’s mom left. Maybe Daichi thought there was a void that had to be filled (there was no void, not anymore, just scar tissue that itched and pulled whenever she was near). Maybe Daichi just wanted to keep an eye on him, or distract him. Whatever the case, Suga always let him. Let him in his house, let him in the empty spaces of his heart, where he’d made himself at home. He let Daichi in and basked in his presence. In his warmth. In the three years Suga had known him, Daichi had become a constant, the hand on his back to help him steel his spine. And he was also the secret Suga knew he’d never share.

Suga huffed nervously at the places his mind was going and tried changing position, but a jolt of pain went through his shoulder and he gave up.

Daichi raised his eyes and looked at him, a crease appearing on his brow. "You ok there, old man?" That earned him a kick in the shin.

"You are the one to talk, with your old man sideburns and your old man clothes."

Daichi glared at him, but there was no real heat in his eyes, "Hey! Cardigans are fashionable!"

Suga had to laugh at that. He made to dab at an invisible tear when his shoulder protested again. Daichi saw his grimace. "Seriously tho, are you ok?"

Suga sighed, defeated. "It’s just my shoulder," he admitted.

For some reason that made Daichi blush. Suga watched with - no doubt poorly - veiled interest the blood rise from Daichi’s neck to his cheeks and even his ears, and took in how cute it made him look. As if he needed any help in that.

"I’m done with this," Daichi said, gesturing to his essay.

_Finally_. "Finally!"

"I was thinking…" Daichi hesitated, took a deep breath and tried again. "Do you…well…i mean…i could give you a massage?"

As soon as the words registered in his brain Suga did two things: turn crimson, of course, and cling on his shirt as if Daichi’s simple question would be able to make it fly off his body.

Daichi followed the gesture with his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched a little upward. "I’m not going to defile you, Suga, i promise."

As if Suga would complain if Daichi were to suggest something like that. Suga felt hysterical laughter build in his chest and bit his lip to keep it in. Save Daichi from his momentary folly. This was stupid. Everything about this situation was stupid. His brain spinning at the simple thought of Daichi’s – strong, calloused – hands on him was stupid. Acting like a Victorian middle-aged woman clutching her pearls was stupid. Falling in love with his best friend, too, had been stupid. Really, really stupid.

"It’s not necessary." It came out as barely a whisper.

And of course it wasn’t enough to persuade Daichi, because it was his captain voice that reached Suga’s ears next. "Don’t be ridiculous." A pause. Suga didn’t move. "You heard me. Take. It. Off."

It would have been a lot more impressive and intimidating, Suga thought, if Daichi weren’t blushing quite so hard. But in the end it was exactly the blush that convinced Suga to undress.

He took his shirt off clumsily and lay down face first on the bed, back straight as a rod and breath coming out shallower than normal.

Suga watched Daichi put his books aside, one by one, then collect them in a pile. He was placing the last one on top when Suga noticed it. The trembling. Daichi’s hands were shaking. He got up, finally, and rubbed the palms of his hands on his pants in a nervous gesture. Suga's heartbeat picked up. It was a steady tud now, threatening to crack his ribcage, resounding so loud in his ears Suga wouldn’t have been surprised if Daichi said he could hear it. But Daichi looked nervous too, as nervous as he was, and Suga had never felt so unsteady before.

The first time Daichi’s fingers came in touch with his skin sparks ran through his body and only stopped at each of his nerve endings. Suga crossed his arms and hid his face in them, for fear _those words_ would come pouring from his mouth, from his eyes.

Daichi was gentle, pushing down on the flesh of Suga’s neck and drawing circles with his thumbs. Suga wished he could relax, wished he could just enjoy it, but he knew how easy it’d be for his body to betray him and that knowledge made loosening up impossible.

Daichi noticed, of course he did. "Just relax, Suga."

Suga closed his eyes, world turning carmine and black, and tried to force himself to act like a normal human being.

Breathe in. Relaxing landscape. The bluest seas and white sand beneath his feet.

Breathe out. The rush of being on a swing pushed too hard.

Breathe in. The little pond near grandma’s house.

Breathe out. Successfully spiking a ball during a match.

Breathe in. Daichi’s hands, warm and a little clammy on his body. Strong and capable and-

_Shit._

The air in his lungs was just feeding the fire. He laughed tremulously. He wanted to apologize, say he was fine now and run to the bathroom, be alone with his shame.

"It’s ok," Daichi said.

_It isn’t_ , Suga thought.

And Daichi kept going. He reached the spot that had been bothering Suga and finally Suga had an actual reason to flinch.

The heels of Daichi’s hands glided across his back in long, even strokes. With enough force to be felt but not enough to bother him. Daichi was cautious, branding Suga’s skin with the tenderness of his touch.

Then one of his hands stopped mid motion and he poked the centre of Suga’s back.

"You really do have moles everywhere…"

His voice sounded deeper than usual to Suga’s ears, and a little uncertain. Shaky.

"I know," Suga sighed, feeling mortified for yet another reason.

He’d always hated his moles, especially the one near his eye. When he was a kid boys in his class used to laugh at him and say he had a bug on his face. It wasn’t a very clever insult, but Suga was 6 and he hated bugs. His mole was the reason he let his bangs grow during 2nd year, even tho they were often in the way when he played.

Daichi had apparently given up on the massage altogether now. Instead he was…tapping his fingers on seemingly random places of Suga’s back.

1, 2, 3…12, 17…

_No, no._

Daichi was counting his moles.

Suga squirmed under his fingertips. "Don’t."

_Don’t look at them. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at how ugly they are, at how skinny i am, how pale, how weak-_

"But they’re lovely…"

Suga froze for a second, two, three. Then Daichi’s words seeped through the too pale skin, the too soft flesh, the too weak muscles, and carved themselves on the inside of his ribs, put his heart in motion again.

This time when Daichi touched him, Suga leaned into it.

Daichi’s hand splayed high on his back. In a murmur he said "Your heart is beating so fast."

Suga turned his face a little and opened his eyes. His room, the world, was a triumph of color. "It is," he agreed, his voice sure and clear.

Then Daichi covered Suga’s body with his own, his chest pressed flush against Suga’s back. "So is mine."

And Suga could feel it, too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Are cardigans really fashionable? I don't feel fashion-savvy enough to judge.  
> Turns out posting a second work is just as nerve-wracking as posting the first.  
> [Tumblr](http://thewindraiser.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/JKNo_emi)


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